


Until Death Do Us Part

by MaggieBee



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7232056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieBee/pseuds/MaggieBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were things in life even the Joker didn't expect, and this was certainly one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Worse

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to @to-ma-to on Tumblr, who helped me come up with the basic plot for this.  
> This fic is going to be a three-parter, and I'm hoping to have the next two chapters up very soon. Enjoy!

Police sirens were sounding in the distance. Harley nervously looked around; carefully searching for something that could still doom this entire operation and land them in police custody, or even worse, back in Arkham. But everything was going unnaturally smoothly – the hostages were tied up and intimidated, almost all of the stolen money and goods were in their van and Batman hadn’t showed up and tried to stop them yet. So far, so good.

Somewhat relaxed, she twirled her gun around in her hand. A hostage somewhere to her right whimpered, and Harley sharply turned her head to glare at them, which sent her pigtails flying.

She’d gotten stuck playing babysitter for all the civilians that had had the bad luck of being inside the bank they’d decided to rob. Not that any of them had given her any problems so far. They were too intimidated by the reputations that preceded both her and her Mistah J to even try and call for help.

The whimpering hostage quickly fell silent when she noticed Harley’s death stare and Harley gave a content little smile.

Now slightly bored, she twisted a strand of hair around her finger and looked over her shoulder. Mistah J and the rest of the guys were getting the last of the money out of the vault, but they were taking their sweet time. The police sirens that hadn’t worried her before were getting dangerously closer.

“C’mon”, she mumbled, still fidgeting with her hair, “what is takin’ so long?”

As if on cue, the first men emerged with the rest of the loot, carrying big bags of money. Harley hurried to their aid and opened the doors of the van that they’d driven right through the glass entrance door.

“Harley!”

Within seconds the van was abandoned again as she hurried back to her original position.

“When did I say you could leave the hostages unwatched?” the Joker barked while he motioned for the henchmen to keep filling up the van.

“Sorry Puddin’”, Harley immediately chirped, “I was jus’ tryin’ to help.”

He grumbled something incomprehensible and then went over to snapping orders at his men instead of her.

Harley dutifully went back to her job and did a quick headcount to make sure nobody had gotten away while she had been inattentive. Everything seemed to be in order; everyone was still tied up and keeping silent like a good hostage.

“Am I good at this or am I good at this?”

Harley looked from one frightened civilian to the next.

“Ha, you’re right, I’m not jus’ good, I’m excel-“

When she saw the silver flash of metal it was already too late.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” she screeched, or at least would have screeched, if she hadn’t been interrupted by that awfully loud gunshot.

Before she could react or do anything at all, two more gunshots followed - this time from behind her - and the contents of the fearless hostage’s skull splattered the wall behind them pink and red.

“Huh.”

There was a pain coming from somewhere in her torso, but she was too busy staring at the patterns the brain masses had left on the white wall of the building. Wasn’t there this one painter...? She wondered if he’d gotten the inspirations for his paintings by blowing someone’s brains out onto a white wall.

“Harley?”

“Huh?”

The pain was hard to ignore now. She looked down at her upper body, desperately trying to find the source. There was a wet spot, just where her costume went from red to black and slowly she reached out her fingers to touch the damp fabric.

They came back drenched in a deep red and slowly Harley blinked at her wet, bloody fingers twice.

“Huh.”

“Harley?”

The Joker’s voice was closer now than before but all Harley could think about was where she could wipe her fingers without staining her costume further.

“There’s some blood, Mistah J”, she said slowly and showed him her fingers as he kept approaching, “try not to...”

She lost track of her words and looked down at the stain again, realizing with wide eyes that it was getting bigger and bigger.

“Try not to get your suit dirty”, she whispered, eyes still on her bloody costume.

“Shit”, she heard him curse, “I thought that imbecile missed you.”

“Missed me...”

Harley looked up to find an unsettling look on her Puddin’s face that she didn’t think she’d seen before.

“The police sirens are coming closer!”, someone shouted from the entrance, “we have to leave _now!”_

Before Harley knew what was happening she was gathered up into the Joker’s arms who carried her like she weighed nothing. She whimpered when the erratic movements sent jolts of pain through her bleeding side, and she could hear him curse some more under his breath.

“What the hell happened?”

The men’s voices were buzzing around her, everyone nosy, everyone curious, but they all fell silent when the Joker put her down inside the back of the van, her head resting against one of the money bags and the blood stain clearly visible.

“Drive”, he harshly ordered no one in particular, and slammed his fist against the dividing wall separating the front of the van from the back, “drive, God damn it!”

The van shook as the motor came to life.

Harley tried to sit up but was pushed back into the bags only seconds later.

“Don’t move”, the Joker instructed her and Harley nodded weakly. She wasn’t quite sure if she’d be able to sit up anyway.

The pain was getting worse now, the adrenaline that had kept her on two feet before seemed to be wearing off and while goose bumps danced over her skin Harley found herself understanding the situation she was in more and more. The Joker was still crouched down beside her and Harley reached out her fingers to touch his arm.

“I feel cold, Mistah J.”

There was some nervous muttering going on behind them; the henchmen were all obviously watching them, but none of them seemed to know what to do. The van took a sharp turn and Harley whimpered as pain shot through the entire right side of her body.

“We’re gonna fix this”, the Joker said, “just stay awake, cupcake.”

Harley nodded again.

He stood up and began talking to the men, hushed voices Harley could hardly understand.

“She’s losing too much blood-“

“We can’t just check her into a hospital, you fucking idiot!”

“-medical equipment back at the hideout-“

A few more irritable exchanges and a death threat later he was back by her side, looking undeniably nervous for his standards.

“Am I goin’ to die, Mistah J?”

There was a strong metallic taste in her mouth, and even though med school had been a while back, Harley knew that this didn’t mean anything good.

“Of course not, pumpkin, just keep your eyes open and-“

The van came to an abrupt halt, tires squeaking and henchmen falling over. Someone ripped open the back door of the car and the confusion started afresh.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Someone get a medical kit!”

“She’s already lost so much blood, I don’t think we can still-“

The Joker looked like he wanted to strangle each and every one of them, and only when it got quiet around them, the angry crease on his forehead slowly disappeared.

Harley reached out to touch his face, not caring that her bloody gloves left red marks on his cheek, and he didn’t seem to care either.

“We’re gonna fix this”, he said again, sounding even less convinced than the first time, “we’re gonna pluck that bullet right out of you and fix you up.”

Harley could feel her eyelids getting heavier and even though she knew that going to sleep was very bad news, the urge became harder to fight by the second. The throbbing pain in her side grew duller as she began to feel more lightheaded and the taste in her mouth was clearly the one of blood.

“I’m tired.”

“I know. You just have to stay awake for a little longer, alright?”

She nodded weakly, barely noticeably and grasped his forearm, leaving more bloody handprints in the progress.

“I jus’ wanna go to sleep for a bit...” she mumbled, eyes closing, “jus’ for a few minutes, I promise.”

“No, no, no, Harley girl, open your eyes.”

Harley managed to force her eyes open with the last bit of strength she had, but she knew very well that this right there was the end. She wouldn’t go out heroically in hand-to-hand combat with Batman or one of his helpers, and neither would she die peacefully at the age of ninety with a fulfilled life to look back on. She was bleeding out in the back of a van surrounded by bags of stolen money, but at least her Puddin’ right there to keep her company. Everything was going fuzzy around the edges and she couldn’t tell if those were tears in his eyes, but for some reason she felt a strange wave of calmness come over her. The pain was gone now; only a slow, steady throbbing reminded her that it had ever been there.

And then, just like as if a curtain fell, everything faded to black.

 


	2. For Poorer

“Stop whining.”

The hyenas didn’t listen to him – it wasn’t like they’d ever _really_ listened to him, they’d only ever listened to Harley – and kept yapping and scurrying around his legs.

The phone rang on the other end of the room, but the Joker strategically ignored it. Lou kept tearing at the hem of his pants and only stopped when he violently kicked him away. Or was it Bud? Harley had had a very effective way of telling them apart but he couldn’t even remotely remember.

The two of them had been like this for two days now, ever since Harley had died. They didn’t understand what had happened and he wasn’t even going to try and explain the concept of death to two idiotic animals. The whining continued.

“I mean it, you stupid mutts, shut up!” he snapped, and the hyenas whimpered and tucked their tails between their legs at his sudden rage, ”Mommy’s not coming back and the sooner you get used to it the better.”

The phone rang again and with an irritated growl he stomped across the room to pick it up, just to kill the annoying sound.

“What?!”

Whoever was on the other line screamed right back at him.

“What the _fuck_ have you done?”

It took him only a few seconds to identify the owner of the voice. There weren’t a lot of people who had the guts to scream at him like that.

“Oh, hey Pammy. Long time no see.”

Ivy on the other line didn’t seem to appreciate his mellow greetings.

“I swear, I am going to rip your sorry, good for nothing head right off your shoulders, you lousy bastard.”

All the Joker mustered at the profanities she was spouting at him was a weak chuckle.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Pam laughed dryly and without humor.

“Where is she?”

“Well, that depends on your personal beliefs, though I’m gonna go on a limb here and say she’s in Hell.”

“No, you asshole!”, Ivy shouted at him so forcefully he had to temporarily remove the phone from his ear, “where is her body?”

“I burned it.”

He had. A few hours after she’d bled out, he’d incinerated the whole van – money, Harley, all of it.

“You _burned_ her?!”, Ivy screeched and he was sure that if she could, she’d reach right through the phone and strangle him. That made him chuckle again.

“Calm down, Pammy”, he said, “I couldn’t risk the hyenas eating her remains, you know how it is.”

He threw a look at the two of them, both still whining, and rolled his eyes.

“If you want to use the ashes as fertilizer you can pick them up any time, I don’t give a damn.”

He pushed one of the hyenas away once more, after they tried cuddling up to his leg. Maybe he should just burn the two of them as well.

“There might be some other stuff mixed in there, too; I burned the whole car.”

He expected more screaming, but Ivy kept silent for a few moments.  
“When’s the funeral?” she finally asked in a much calmer voice.

The Joker snorted.

“There’s not going to be a funeral”, he pressed out between clenched teeth, “I have better things to do.”

There was no response from Ivy for a very long time.

“The next time I see you I’m going to kick your balls so far up your throat, you’ll wish you were dead, too.”

He was going to spit something back at her, but she’d already hung up. With a growl, he tossed the phone across the room, satisfied when it shattered against the wall. He had better things to do anyway. There were plans to make, and deaths to plot.

 

Over the course of the next weeks, he robbed banks just so he could burn all the money, stole everything he could get his hands on just so he could dump the loot into Gotham River. It wasn’t like Harley was around to claim any of the pretty things anyway. Thirty people died in an explosion at Gotham Square, twenty more when he blew up the chapel at Main Street. He knew his henchmen were talking behind his back, saying he’d lost it for real now, that he was going crazier by the day, but he just laughed in their faces and then cut their throats when they least expected it.

Gotham was struck with panic, its millions of people were absolutely terrified – they all lived in fear of what he was going to do next. The entire city was more scared of him than ever before and he _loved_ it. He reveled in their desperate attempts to save themselves and escape the grip he had on this hellhole of a city, and he loved nothing more than the panicked look on the news anchor’s face when he dominated the nightly news shows once again. His shrinks at Arkham would probably have interpreted all sorts of pseudo-therapeutic things into that. There was a sudden pain in his chest area at that thought but he could for the life of him not figure out why.

He was on his feet constantly, seemingly even too fast for Batman this time. The caped crusader hadn’t managed to thwart a single one of his plans yet; they were all too unpredictable, too nonsensical and executed on a whim. Hell, half of the time he didn’t know what he was doing until he was in the middle of doing it himself. For once, for the first time in _years,_ the dark knight couldn’t keep up.

 

Gotham was quiet at night these days, not only the respectable citizens steered clear of the streets at this time of the day. The mob was scared of him as well; they knew there was no reasoning with him and everyone was better off if they didn’t provoke him.

He had picked a nice and quiet rooftop, right across the street from Gotham’s orphanage, ready to watch the whole block go up in flames. The detonator was a tiny little thing compared to the size of the bomb he had planted in the cellar of the building, and he tossed the small device from hand to hand while he waited for the perfect moment to start the fireworks.

“Put it down.”

The unmistakable, deep growl came from somewhere behind him. The Joker didn’t need to turn around to know who had come to put an end to his antics.

“You know, Batsy”, he said, his voice filled with cheerful glee, “I was wondering when you’d show up. It’s not at all like you to let me do as I please for so long.”

There was a short breeze of air and from the corner of his eye he saw how the dark silhouette of his favorite caped crusader came closer.

“This madness ends _now”,_ the Bat growled, “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve, but I won’t let this go any further.”

A few giggles crept their way up his throat and turned into manic cackles.

“You’ll have to wrangle the detonator to this bomb out of my cold, lifeless hands”, he spat and turned to face his adversary, dangling the small device in front of him like it was a treat for a dog.

Then, without as much as a warning, Batman launched into an attack – his whole body coming down onto the Joker’s and knocking him to the ground. Another laugh got caught in his throat as his body hit the concrete, the impact forcing all of the air out of him. The detonator flew out of his hand, and landed out of reach a few feet next to them. The Joker took a deep breath, ready to start cackling again, but he was interrupted by Batsy’s fist connecting soundly with his jaw.

The familiar, coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, and he made a point of grinning up at the masked vigilante, showing him his teeth, which he was sure, were stained blood red already.

“Is that all you got?” he asked tauntingly, “I was about to blow up an orphanage, I’m pretty sure that made you a _little_ more angry than you’re letting on.”

He laughed again, but it soon turned into a cough.

“After all, you have so many _kids_ following you around at night, you can’t tell me they all have-“

Another fist to the face abruptly ended that sentence. There was a gruesome cracking noise and judging from the pain and the sound, the Joker was sure the Bat had just broken his nose. For some reason, he found this unbelievably funny.

“Ohhhhoooh, I get it, _I get it –_ underage sidekicks are still somewhat of a _sensitive_ topic-“

With undeniable rage in his eyes, Batman grabbed him by the throat and slammed his head back into the ground so hard he started seeing stars.

His head was throbbing and his ears were ringing, but that didn’t stop him from giggling once more.

“They break _so_ easily, these little birds, _don’t_ they?”

Another blow to the face and then he had him pinned to the ground by his neck, strong fingers slowly closing around the Joker’s throat. His entire face was swollen and in pain and even though Batman was choking him harder and cutting off his air, he was grinning up at him.

“Come on, big guy”, he coughed, struggling to breathe, “ _end it._ I know you want to.”

Batman tightened the grip around his neck and slammed his head back into the concrete once more; he was getting angrier, slowly, _slowly_ losing control. The Joker began to laugh even harder, ignoring how much his injuries protested.

“Ooooooohhh, so.... so much _rage_ \- come on, look _deep_ inside yourself and let all the hatred **out.”**

For a second the Joker thought he’d actually do it – his fingers tightened around his neck again and his expression turned into one of blind hatred for a split second. But he caught himself, like he always did, unwilling to break the rule - unwilling to _kill_ him _._

“Come _on_ ”, the Joker hissed, “I know you blame me for her death, _do it.”_

Something like realization flashed over Batsy’s face.

“This is about Harley, isn’t it?”

His sudden calm tone made the Joker see red. How dared he try and psychoanalyze him?

He used the moment of enlightenment and inattention the Bat was still having and pushed him off of him, immediately grabbing for the nearest thing to use as a weapon. His fingers closed around what appeared to be an iron bar, and while the caped crusader was busy getting up again, he swung back and knocked him clean out. His body hit the ground with a satisfying thump, and the Joker grinned down at him. He wasn’t moving, but the hit to the head hadn’t been hard enough to kill him. For a second the Joker considered ending it once and for all, but he was quick to throw that thought away again.

“That’d be just too easy”, he mumbled, “ain’t no fun in an unfair fight, huh Batsy?”

With a last look back at his unconscious adversary, already erupting in another fit of laughter, the Joker vanished into the night.


End file.
